Perfect Solution
by Zana Zira
Summary: Post 9x13. "Really, Sammy?" Dean asked impatiently, a tinge of disappointment in his low voice. "You're just gonna pretend last night never happened, is that it?" "No, but I'm also not talking about it right now." The laugh that came from Dean's mouth stopped Sam cold in his tracks, and instant before he was knocked unconscious. "That's fine, Sammy. All you gotta do is listen."
1. Part I

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.**

**A/N: Okay, so I have to warn you guys that this fic is... pretty disturbing. Or at least it was to write. This is actually based on a dream I had two weeks ago, and I can tell you right now that Part II of this fic did NOT exist anywhere in said dream. So if you don't want the happy ending I felt compelled to add, leave Part II alone. There is a lot of gore in this fic. Consider yourself warned.**

* * *

_"I was ready to die, I was ready. I should have died. But you, you didn't want to be alone. That's what this boils down to. You can't stand the thought of being alone. I'll give you this much, you're certainly willing to sacrifice, as long as you're not the one being hurt."_

_"Alright, you want to be honest? If the situation had been reversed, and I was dying, you'd do the same thing."_

_"No Dean, I wouldn't. Same circumstances, I wouldn't." _

Sam regretted those words almost the instant they came out of his mouth, immediately knowing he had gone too far by the look of unconcealed shock and hurt on his older brother's usually stoic face. Dean was staring at him in total disbelief, his eyes wide and over-bright, not quite shiny enough to have tears in them but damn close. That kicked-puppy look alone was almost enough to turn Sam into a frantically apologizing mess at his big brother's feet.

Almost.

If there was one thing Sam Winchester was famous for, it was stubbornness. That trait would unfortunately not let him back down and apologize so easily, no matter how much the situation called for it or how much he might have wanted to. So instead of apologizing or even acknowledging Dean's reaction in any way, he simply turned on his heel, muttering something about heading to bed over his shoulder before making his way to his room as quickly as he could without running. He could hear Dean saying something along the lines of "Sam, wait, hang on just wait a minute –" but he was at his bedroom door and ducking inside before the words even fully registered.

He fought back the feelings of guilt that assaulted him the instant he closed the door, locking it tightly when he remembered that Dean would probably try to come in and talk to him if he didn't. There was no way he was talking about this right now; as angry and betrayed as Dean must feel, Sam was sure he still felt much worse, and he knew another confrontation would only make him say that many more hateful things to his older brother. So for now, he was going to go to sleep and try to cool himself down. It was surprisingly easy to coax his body into relaxing completely; too many years of sleeping under much worse circumstances sometimes came in handy. Within only minutes, he was completely out, snoring softly and slowly as his mind let all of the tension from the last few days fade away for a short time.

Dean would just have to deal with whatever it was he was feeling until morning.

* * *

When Sam awoke at dawn the next day, it took him several minutes to remember any of what had happened the night before. He felt a small twinge of guilt the instant he did, but he pushed it back, yawning and stretching as he tried to occupy his mind with other thoughts.

An involuntary shiver made its way across his back as his feet touched the floor; something in the room immediately seemed off, even if he didn't know what. The sun was shining through his window, the air was warm and crisp where it drifted in between the blinds, and the bunker was as quiet as it always was at six o'clock in the morning. But still, as he climbed out of bed and wandered to the kitchen, the younger Winchester couldn't help feeling that something or someone was watching his every move from the shadows. He continued to creep down the hall, listening for whatever might be wrong in the bunker and wondering if Dean had sensed the thing too, or if maybe he was just becoming a little paranoid.

A soft, sudden tapping sound from behind him had him whirling around to punch at whatever it was before he even realized what had happened, and he was lucky his older brother had a quick enough reaction time to get out of the way before Sam broke his nose.

"Whoa! Sam, what the hell?!" Dean asked, staring at Sam's fist warily until he uncurled it and dropped it back down to his side.

"Nothing, I, uh… I thought I heard something, but I guess it was you." Sam could feel himself blushing with embarrassment, even more so when he saw that the only sound he had been hearing was from Dean's bare feet on the linoleum floor; he must have been coming back from the gun range, because he was holding one of his favorite handguns loosely at his side. Sam quickly regained his composure, schooling his face into a neutral expression when he remembered that he was still supposed to be angry at his brother. "Anyway, sorry. I'm just gonna go grab some breakfast and head out, so if you don't mind –"

"Really, Sammy?" Dean asked impatiently, a tinge of disappointment in his low voice. "You're just gonna pretend last night never happened, is that it?"

"No, but I'm also not talking about it right now. We're both still too pissed off." He turned around and prepared to walk to the kitchen, hoping to grab a few slices of toast before doing some research on a possible case he hadn't yet told Dean about. He'd only made it a few steps when he heard a soft chuckle from Dean, so eerily out of character that it froze him in his tracks. Before he could turn around to look at his brother, though, something hit him hard in the back of the head, dropping him unconscious to the floor before he even knew what had happened.

"That's fine, Sammy," Dean said nonchalantly, wiping a few droplets of Sam's blood from the butt of his favorite – and heaviest – gun. "All you gotta do now is listen."

* * *

"_Saaaammm…_ _Saaaammmmyyyy…_"

"Ngh?" Sam groaned, hearing the faraway voice echoing in his ears as he tried to force his heavy eyelids open. His head was killing him, throbbing like a jackhammer with every heartbeat, and he couldn't seem to remember where he was. When he finally did get his eyes open he winced in pain, blinking against the small beam of light filtering from the hallway into… Where was this? He looked around blearily, and as his eyesight cleared his heart rate quickly began to speed up.

He recognized this room.

The chains hanging from the walls, the Devil's Traps engraved onto every one of them even though they sat above a gigantic Devil's Trap on the floor, the bookcases that could swing shut to wall him off from everything on the outside… This was the bunker's dungeon.

But why was he down here? Crowley was gone, so there was no reason for anyone to visit this place anymore. He tried to stand, and only then did he realize that his arms and legs were chained down, pinning him to the same chair Crowley had been kept in for months before his release. His heart began to race frantically, thoughts of Hell and the panic room and detoxing and Lucifer all blurring together at the realization of being tied down like an animal once again.

What was happening?

Only an instant later, he got his answer when Dean stepped into the room. His brother strode in casually, the way he would if he was going to talk to someone at the bar or on a case. The fact that Sam was bound and gagged in front of him didn't seem to faze him at all. As he got closer, a tiny grin spread across Dean's lips, and Sam involuntarily shrank back at the menacing look in his brother's empty, staring eyes.

"D'nn?" he mumbled through the gag in his mouth, hating the quiver in his voice the instant he saw Dean pick up on it.

"Oh, you're finally awake, huh Sleeping Beauty?" Dean asked, chuckling as he retrieved a knife – it looked like one from the kitchen – from behind one of the bookcases and began sharpening it with a whetstone. He gave Sam a sickeningly sweet smile, which was made absolutely terrifying when accompanied by the scraping of the blade every few seconds. "I didn't mean to clock you so hard, you know. Woulda been easier for me if you were at least semi-conscious while I brought you down here, heavy as your ass is. But hey, whatcha gonna do?" He shrugged, an over-exaggerated motion that just looked _wrong_ on Dean. "Anyway, now we can start the party, huh?"

"Wh'?"

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you," he said, slapping his palm to his forehead and seemingly forgetting he still held the knife in that hand. Sam watched in horror as beads of blood bubbled up from the long slice that now ran across Dean's forehead, dripping between his eyes and over his nose without him seeming to notice a thing. "I did some thinking about what you said last night…" And there was that menacing look again, pulling Dean's smile into a snarl for only a second. "And you know, you're right." He was striding slowly toward Sam, the knife held loosely in his hand as if he had almost forgotten it was there again. "I do hate being alone. Hate it more than you could ever know. And hearing someone you practically gave up your whole life for just say they'd be better off dead… Well, it was a little surprising."

Another high-pitched giggle bubbled up from Dean's throat, making Sam shiver and back away as much as his chains would allow. This wasn't Dean. This _couldn't_ be Dean…

The blade of the knife pressed against one of Sam's knuckles and he flinched, looking up at his brother in the hopes that he might snap out of whatever this was before it was too late.

"So I decided something, Sammy," he said cheerfully, digging the knife into the crease of Sam's right ring-finger until it bled. "I'm gonna do what you wanted all along. I'm gonna let you go."

His lips twisted up into a smile so wide it shouldn't have been physically possible, and Sam screamed through the gag as the knife cut all the way through the fingers of his right hand, leaving the stubs to spurt hot blood over the both of them with every hammering heartbeat. Tears of pain poured from his eyes, and his breath hissed in and out of his nose as he fought to avoid passing out. Dean's features softened into a tiny frown, and he reached out to touch Sam's cheek, leaving a trail of bloody red fingerprints on the pale skin.

"Aww, Sammy, don't cry…" he muttered, his voice sounding the way it had when they were little and Sam had come crying to his big brother about a bad dream. "Everything's gonna be okay, you'll see."

With that, he stabbed the blade into Sam's other hand, tearing another scream from his throat before moving on to his torso, where he cut and slashed and stabbed with wild abandon, making sure not to go deep enough to put Sam out of his misery just yet. Blood flowed like a deep red river, pooling around both of their legs and wetting the knees of Dean's jeans as it soaked through them and warmed his skin. He laughed harder, cutting deeper and letting more of the beautiful red out to paint his brother's body the color of a ruby – fitting, considering Sam had cared so much about one certain Ruby in the past. He hummed slowly to himself, the sound creating a twisted accompaniment to Sam's screams and muffled sobs, his pleas to just kill him and be done with it. But Dean ignored those pleas; he would end this when he decided to, and not a second sooner.

For what seemed like hours they stayed that way, Dean cutting and slashing at Sam's blood-splattered body and humming Metallica to himself. Finally, though, the screams stopped, and Sam's eyes grew dull. He was only barely conscious now, his head lolling on his neck as the loss of blood exhausted him too much to care about self-preservation. Dean snorted with laughter, picking up the knife and holding it to Sam's throat.

"Here we go, Sammy. This'll only take a second. I promise, nothing's ever going to hurt you again, Little Brother."

Sam whimpered once, a few last tears trickling down his blood-splattered cheeks, and then with a quick thrust of the knife, Dean ended his misery once and for all. A few more minutes of sawing and the older Winchester had his prize. He held up Sam's head in front of him, wiping a tear from the cold cheek and gently petting the shaggy brown hair.

"What'd I tell you, Sammy?" he whispered, hugging his brother's head close and kissing the crown. "This is the perfect solution for both of us. You got what you wanted, and I still get to keep you with me… _forever_…"


	2. Part II

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.**

**A/N: Alright, here's the happy ending I felt compelled to add after all that nastiness before. Feel free to ignore it if you want to experience the story the way I did. *shudder* But if you want some Awesome Big Brother Dean after all that Psycho-Dean, then please read on. ;)**

* * *

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean shouted, shaking his trembling brother as he whimpered and writhed in the throes of a nightmare. He hadn't been planning to talk to his brother again until at least the following morning, especially when he had found the door locked. But the instant he'd heard Sam scream in the middle of the night, he was up and out of bed in record time, picking the lock and racing to his little brother's aid like nothing had ever happened. "Come on, man, wake up!"

He shook Sam's shoulders again, wincing when his brother cried out as if in pain and released a new stream of tears from the corners of his eyes. Mad at his brother or not, he'd never want him to suffer like this for any reason. When he was beginning to think he'd just have to give up and sit beside his brother through the whole thing, Sam shot up with a gasp, hands flying to his chest as he nearly hyperventilated in his desire to take a breath.

"Hey, easy, Sammy. You need to –"

Dean wasn't at all prepared for the reaction that seeing his face got out of his brother. Sam's eyes widened so much it was almost comical, at least until he flinched back and screamed in terror, falling off of the bed and backing himself into the corner as tightly as his enormous body would allow. Now Dean was more than a little panicked, himself.

"Sammy, take it easy. It's just me," he said softly, beginning to crawl toward his brother until the sound of breathless sobbing halted him in his tracks.

"Just… just kill me if you're going to…" Sam gulped out between harsh breaths. "I can't… I can't do this… any… more…"

Dean couldn't make any sense out of a word Sam had just said, but he could tell that this train of thought was going nowhere good. Without a second thought, he leaned forward the rest of the way and wrapped his arms around his brother, pulling him into a tight hug with the younger man held flush against his chest. Sam immediately tried to back away, bucking and struggling and screaming when he found out he couldn't.

"Sam," Dean said softly, loud enough that he knew Sam could hear him but hopefully not enough to spook him further. "You're okay. Everything's fine. Take a breath, alright? Try to do it with me." He inhaled and then exhaled, deeply and slowly, exaggerating it so that Sam could feel it against his own chest and hopefully do the same. It took a few attempts, but eventually Sam began to copy Dean's breathing pattern, some of the tension leaving his shivering muscles as he leaned ever so slightly closer to his big brother.

"There you go, that's good," Dean said gently, unintentionally speaking to Sam the way he had when they were both children and Sam was prone to night terrors. "You ready to move back to the bed?" Sam nodded slowly, attempting to stand up on his own and ending up falling when his legs trembled like a newborn colt's. The second attempt was much more successful, with Dean carrying the majority of his weight and depositing him gently on the mattress.

"Thanks…" Sam said unsteadily, closing his eyes against the headache that was already beginning to build behind his eyes thanks to the stress and tears.

"Don't mention it," Dean said, making a mental note to be sure and give Sam some Tylenol before he left the room. "But Sam… What the hell was that?"

Sam flinched visibly, his head dipping low in embarrassment before he looked back up at his brother. "I… I don't think I can talk about it just yet."

"Alright, fair enough. You want to go back to sleep?"

Sam shuddered. "I doubt I can right now."

"I can get you some sleeping pills or something, if you need them."

"Um, actually…"

"What?"

"Could you… Maybe, ah… Stay here, for just a little while?"

Dean was taken aback by that question. Apparently Sam had forgotten that _he_ was the one who didn't want Dean around anymore. He was really starting to get emotional whiplash here.

"Alright, but on one condition," he said firmly, wincing only slightly when he realized he'd put a little too much John Winchester into his tone.

"Okay…" Sam said apprehensively.

"When you wake up, we're talking about whatever this nightmare was. Got it?"

Sam swallowed hard, shivering once at the memory. "Got it."

Dean smiled, thankful for small victories. "Alright, then," he said, sitting down in the desk chair beside Sam's bed. "Get some rest, man."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Any time."

Sam was asleep within minutes, and Dean smiled sadly, his heart only a little lighter after this recent turn of events. He knew that after tonight Sam was probably going to be even more withdrawn than ever, and what had transpired last night between them was most definitely not forgotten. But for now, he had his little brother back, and he'd take whatever he could get. After all, that was all he could ever really do.


End file.
